Spicy Pony Head
by Saaxth
Summary: Sniper's tried many things. Spicy Pony Head is not one of them. - Based on a Kasper Hauser Skit -


**A/N:** See if you can find the double entendre. Oops.

* * *

As an outdoorsman - having spent years in the Australian outback - Sniper liked to think of himself as a man with an open palette; he had never been very picky as a child, even forcing down the dreaded Brussels sprout with relative ease. Whereas one would turn their nose up in disgust at one of those tiny things, they would stare in dumbfounded shock at the notion of having kangaroo meat.

Sniper had tried it all. Honest.

Which was why he had ventured off in search of more bizarre eats, just to prove to himself if no one else, that there was nothing in this world his taste buds had not bested.

Thus he now found himself in a remote region of France, the last place on Earth he would have ever seen himself going to, if only because there was that sliver of a chance he'd run into one of those bloody Spooks.

A chat with the locals in broken French had pointed him to a tiny hole in the wall, a humble place named _Le Cheval_. When Sniper walked inside, he noted that the décor was very plain if not, ahem, nonexistent. The wallpaper was beginning to peel, half of the lights on the chandelier were dead, and the vases at each table contained one if not more wilted flowers. He hoped that the food would make up for this drab appearance. Honestly, who was he to judge?

Sniper had a seat at the table and almost immediately after he settled down, a waiter came up to him. He didn't know why, but the man struck him as familiar. Then again, almost everyone in France had made him jump; Spies everywhere.

"Bonsoir, monsieur. Qu'est-ce que vouz voulez boire?"

Sniper stared at him for a few moments. The waiter leaned in closer and, in a heavy accent, asked, "You would like drink?" He pulled back and mimed drinking from a wine glass, leaving room in his hand to clasp the goblet.

"Oh, uh. Water's fine. De l'eau?"

"Oui, bien sûr. Un moment, s'il vous plait."

Sniper shook his head. In every restaurant prior, the waiters had made an effort to cater to him in English. He supposed it was due to the obscurity of the area; few tourists must have come up here.

Oh well, it was only dinner. It wasn't like he'd accidentally order poison - On second thought, that had almost happened. _Poison_ and _poisson_, good grief.

With an empty stomach in mind, Sniper started flipping through the menu. Wonderful, parts of it was actually in English. His eyes trailed down the list, stopping in the middle of the first page. His eyes wouldn't leave that spot.

"Sir?"

Sniper looked up. "Oh. Hey. Thanks for the water. Uh. I have a question about the menu."

The waiter took out a pen and paper and nodded. "Yes, sir?"

Sniper did his best to remain tactful. "Whot's _spicy pony head?_"

The waiter looked at him funny. Sniper hoped that he hadn't offended the man. The awkward silence was finally cut when the waiter cleared his throat, then began to explain, "Eet eez a pony head with spices. Imagine a pony, but without ze body."

Sniper frowned. "I know whot a pony is, mate."

The waiter nodded and went on, "Spicy eez, euh, make your mouth on fire."

Sniper frowned deeper. "I know whot spicy is. I'm just curious as to why there's a _pack animal_ on t' menu."

The waiter smiled and leaned over Sniper's shoulder and said, "Zhere eez a lot of food, hein?" He began pointing out other items for Sniper, while the latter just stared. "We also have, euh, _Demi_-Pony Head which eez, euh, one half."

Sniper eyed him like he was crazy. "I'm not sure I want a 'Demi-Pony Head'. I don't want _any_ Pony Head." Not with the way this guy _wasn't_ describing it. "I have a bit of policy not to eat t'ings that I ride."

Sniper chuckled to himself at that one.

"So you would not eat monkey."

Sniper balked. "Whot-? No, I- … touché."

This man was grating on his nerves much like a certain _Spy_ used to. Sniper took in a deep breath. He sipped from his glass of water and set it back down. He didn't want to start a fight, not after all the fighting he'd already been through. "Look, I'll just have t' flank steak, medium rare. And a salad with bleu cheese."

The waiter smiled and started towards the kitchen, reciting the order, "Pony Head flank steak with salad bleu cheese."

_Oh hell no._ _**Bloody wanker.**_

"Hold up a minute. Whot did ya just say?"

The waiter turned around and shrugged. "Cheese."

"No, before that."

The waiter rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Bleu."

Sniper chewed at his lip. It took all of his self-control not to launch at the waiter as if he really was a goddamn Spook. "Is all the meat on your menu made of _pony head?_"

The waiter stormed up to him and retaliate, "Eet eez not all ze steak! Eet depends on what ze fishermen bring in!"

Sniper was speechless. It took a moment for him to recollect himself, to open his mouth and let out words. Suddenly, it clicked. "Oh, I get it. It's seafood. Some kind of pony-fish. A seahorse-"

"**Pony eez not a seahorse!**" the waiter snapped. "A pony! Eetz a big, euh, beautiful baby. With ze long silky tail. -Chop ze head off! Spicy."

Sniper's jaw dropped just an inch.

"A pony!" the waiter exclaimed, "Pbbffft! A pony!"

All Sniper could do was just nod.

"A pony! As you see in ze field. Perhaps in a cave." The waiter snorted, "Making love to your wife."

"Oh god…" Sniper ducked behind his hand and shook his head. "Look, mate, I'm sorry I asked. Really. Just, uh, gimme the soup. Vegetable soup. No pony head in the soup, right?"

The waiter looked a little sheepish. "Euh, zhere eez no pony… _in ze soup_."

Sniper scowled. "Whot does that mean?"

"Pony eez, euh, _very_ _near_ to ze soup. As if eet eez drinking from a beautiful fountain." When the waiter started sticking his tongue out, pretending to lap at an imaginary vat of vegetable soup, Sniper's mind shut down.

"Loike a pony head _garnish?_" Sniper demanded.

The waiter grinned. "Okay!"

Sniper sighed. "I don't want that. Uh, Caesar salad. There's no pony head in the salad or _very near_ to it, pretending to eat it?"

The waiter scoffed. "How can zis pony _eat_ a salad? Salad eez _inside_ ze pony head," - and similar to a lion tamer, the waiter pretended to be said pony head - "Eetz not possible."

Sniper couldn't take it anymore. He slammed a fist on the table. "_**Why?**_"

"If I do not put ze salad in ze pony head, how will eet not be on ze floor?"

Sniper snapped, "Put it on a bloody plate!"

The waiter shook his head. "Monsieur, zat eez not sanitary."

"_Please_ put my salad on a plate."

The waiter clicked his tongue and said, "Okay. I will check about plate. If not, salad in spicy pony head."

Sniper deadpanned, "Whot about a bowl?"

The waiter repeated, "Bowl."

"Yeah, mate, _a bowl._"

"_Bowl_."

Sniper growled, "Put my salad in a _bowl_-_-!_"

"_NO!_"

Sniper almost jumped.

"Why the hell not!"

The waiter shuffled his shoes for a bit. He cleared his throat. "I do not know what zis eez."

"Really." Sniper sighed yet again and elaborated, "A bowl. You know, a round thing. Kind of like an upside-down helmet-"

"_A helmet!_"

"Yes!"

The waiter scrunched his nose in disgust. "And next I suppose you want wine in your boot!"

Sniper stared at the retreating figure. What was this? He didn't even-What? But none of this topped his sheer surprise as much as the man returning with the check.

"I didn't even order anything!"

Sniper picked up the receipt and stared at the signature spot already filled: _Yours truly, Spy_.

Oh. Oh, now it all made sense. Sniper got up to his feet and reached for his kukri.

"Guess who's got a sudden cravin' for Spicy Spy Head!"


End file.
